The Disrobing Process
by Zaskaea
Summary: Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's tie. Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's shirt. Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's boots. However, his favourite had to be the thing that came at the very last. -Shortfic-


Zaskaea and Feezles here, with a very random and very silly idea for a story-thing. It's not even really a story. This idea came after reading a wonderful little Soul Eater fic about the different clothes a character wears and how that mattered at that point in life. This is a bit different. It's about taking the clothing OFF. :D  
><strong>DISCLAIMER by Feezles: Obviously, we don't own Hetalia. Zaskaea told me once that she'd like a genderbend crack episode. Now... has that happened yet? Nu? Ah, crap.<strong>  
>Story by Zaskaea. Typed by Feezles. Enjoy as if it were pasta! Review at will.<p>

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><p><span>The Disrobing Process<span>

Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's tie. After meetings, when both had retired to their hotel room, Alfred would become irritated by Arthur's professional attire and slip up behind him, gently pulling the green strip of material from around his neck. Arthur would look almost angry before snorting lightly and smiling along with his fellow nation, opening the top button of his spotless white shirt also.

Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's jacket. When they stepped through the door after a rain shower, Alfred would laugh at Arthur's soaked state and assist him in removing the heavy, waterlogged material from his torso. Arthur would spread his arms backwards and sigh in relief as he stretched, watching Alfred hang the dripping piece of clothing up to dry.

Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's shirt. When he could see the man's tense expression and uncomfortable posture, Alfred would run his hands gently over Arthur's back before bringing them to the front, not even needing to look as he undid the tiny buttons. Always anticipating what was to come, Arthur would not fight it. He would simply close his eyes and breathe deeply as Alfred began to massage the bare skin of his shoulders, revelling in the peaceful silence the two men shared.

Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's boots. Hearing the familiar grunts of annoyance from the hallway, Alfred would find the other man and chuckle in amusement as he helped Arthur pull off the bothersome footwear. However, he would only break into full blown laughter each time a boot finally came off, only to throw him backwards with the force of his own tug. All the while, Arthur would shake his head as a small smile graced his lips.

Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's socks. When he entered the bedroom after having told Arthur goodnight, he would raise an eyebrow at the feet protruding from beneath the thin summer blankets. Running a hand through his hair in amusement, Alfred would realise that the other had once again been too tired to remember removing his socks. So, curling his fingers around the covered toes and feeling Arthur twitch in his sleep due to his ticklishness, Alfred would take them off.

Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's trousers. When Arthur was preparing himself for bed, buttoning up his large nightshirt, Alfred would enter the room with a devilish grin, push the other man onto the bed and yank his trousers off with a childish laugh, only to run back out a second later. Arthur would sit up with an angry cry every time. Then he would realise that really, taking off his trousers was what he had been meaning to do next anyway. That called for a dismissive shake of the head.

Sometimes, Alfred would remove Arthur's underwear. It could be done in many different ways. Roughly or gently. Teasingly or playfully. He _could_ have removed any other item of clothing in these fashions, too, but he didn't. When it was this certain article of clothing, it mattered most of all, so it had to be special.  
>Alfred liked Arthur's underwear the most out of all of his attire, because once he saw it, he knew it was the last thing he had to remove before Arthur was all his again. When the underwear was gone, Arthur would sometimes, just for a second, turn a delicate shade of pink that would make Alfred swoon inside like a love-struck teenage girl. Then Alfred would kiss Arthur, and Arthur would kiss back, neither bothering to hold back their breathy moans and roguish words any longer. Alfred would be able to see, touch and enjoy every part of Arthur Kirkland that there was to look at, knowing full well that it was all his and his only.<br>That, Alfred decided, was what made him like the underwear the most. It was an odd fetish, this obsession with pondering the removal of Arthur Kirkland's undergarments… but he knew that both he and the other nation secretly enjoyed it more than they would ever admit.

...

Well, if Alfred was lucky, there wouldn't actually be any underwear to remove at all.

End

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><p>We both wonder what on Earth Arthur was doing on the day of the Royal Wedding, which we were forced to watch by Zask's mother. *who is German, and spent the whole time dissing the Brits, which was hilarious*. It would've been fun to know XD But oh, we British can be so embarrasing. The wedding, just... SO MUCH POMP. SO MUCH ARMOUR-STUFF. SO MANY HORSIES. SO MANY UNION JACKS. SO MANY RIDICULOUSLY-DRESSED NOBLES. SUCH A GRIM-LOOKING HER MAJESTY. SO MUCH RUDDY PATRIOTISM! *splode* Were we surprised? No, not really.<p>

Stupid end note by Feezles that Zaskaea knows nothing about: This was typed after building an IKEA desk. The Sweden jokes were almost overwhelming in their number... And when Zaskaea realised she'd selected the wrong screws, she had an epic England moment and literally spat out her tea XD -The message? Apparently, English people suck at assembling Swedish furniture. *Dun look at me! I'm Scottish!*

Laters!


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